


In All My Dreams I Drown

by Lil_Redhead



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: CS AU, Captain Swan - Freeform, F/M, Lieutenant Duckling, lieutenant wench
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-12
Updated: 2016-09-12
Packaged: 2018-08-14 14:34:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8017711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lil_Redhead/pseuds/Lil_Redhead
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Emma Swan finds a kindred spirit in a laced up uniform with stories to tell and oceans in his eyes. Each part of this fic will be able to stand alone as its own oneshot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In All My Dreams I Drown

**Author's Note:**

> Written for @mermaidswans' birthday!

Lieutenant Killian Jones sits in the back of the tavern, ink black hair melding with the shadows. Emma only notices him there because the darkness hides him so well. Only part of his face is visible, and for a second, she thinks that he’s a ghost.

There’s no way he’s  _ actually _ a ghost, but this new job - if she can call it that - is finally starting to affect her rationality. When there was no food on the table, Emma had thought that she could live with herself to earn fast money selling her body to men who would surely enjoy her. As it turns out, though, she can’t, and her ability to make rational decisions was evidently impaired then, too. 

And there’s no way she can stop now. She has appointments that she has to attend, appointments that have already been paid for. If she doesn’t show up where and when she is supposed to, her clients will come to forcibly take what they spent their gold on. 

Emma thinks that maybe if she can engage the young man in the corner - handsome and respectable as he appears -  in simple conversation, it’ll lead the other men in the bar to thinking that she’s already found company for the night. 

She doesn’t realize he’s in the royal navy until she gets a closer look at him. His jacket and vest are slung over his chair, hung neatly so that they won’t wrinkle. He’s already accidentally spilled drops of rum on his pants and doesn’t seem too pleased about it. If the scowl across his face is any indication, he’s doesn’t seem in the mood for company.

But if there’s one thing Emma Swan knows how to do, it’s how to make men crave for female companionship.

Turning out of his view, Emma pulls at the strings of her bodice, feeling pressure release from her chest. She shakes her head to ruffle her hair, and licks her lips. Her personal touch, something a fellow escort taught her, was the trick of cupping her hand over her lips and blowing so that her warm breath causes her cheeks to flush. 

Confident she can gain the attention of this straight laced seafarer, at least until the tavern closes, Emma struts over to his corner.

“Hey there, sailor,” she purrs.

The man jolts. His eyes fall on hers, then her chest, then the floor. He seems to be reining in a lot of emotions at once, his mind racing at a million miles a second to pull them in so they aren’t noticed. 

Even with only one month of experience, Emma has become very good at reading the emotions in a man’s eyes. This one, without a doubt, is afraid.

“Hello ma’am,” he says quietly. Clearing his throat, as if to be more assertive, he adds, “I can’t say I’m in the mood for company tonight.” 

Emma has expected this. Planned for this, even. It’s easy to tell the shy ones from the brash ones just as easy as it is to pick out a diamond amongst dried soil. She sits herself down beside him, because this man is a gentleman, and a gentleman would never ask a lady to leave when she is already sitting beside him. 

“Nighttime companionship  is not the only company I can give,” she says truthfully. “I expect I can be quite forthright with you, yes?” 

The man almost seems to be trembling, eyeing her like he would a cobra about to attack. 

“Yes madam,” he confirms, not able to find it within himself to force her to keep her thoughts unspoken. 

“I don’t want to spend the night with you as much as you don’t want to spend the night with me. In fact, I’d rather not spend the night with anyone.” 

This seems to break down his walls just a crack. Honesty, it would seem, can go a long way. He slides his untouched drink over to her and nods his head at it, asking her to take it. 

“You could probably use it more than I,” he says. 

“Who do I have to thank?” Emma asks with a quirked eyebrow. 

“Lieutenant Killian Jones, miss.” 

Killian. It is a foreign name, which explains why she didn’t recognize his uniform. His title, lieutenant, matches the grandeur of his jacket in all of its tassels and gold buttons. He seems still a little apprehensive in her presence, his eyes dancing around the room in an effort to look anywhere but at her.

Emma notes that his eyes seem his most attractive feature, the same color as the sea that brought her solace to look at. A gentle look in his gaze that told her he believed in good form was still overpowered by the dull glimmer of a child abandoned. An orphan. A kindred spirit.

“I’m Swan,” she says, extending her hand. It isn’t often she offers her first name to men. Not after she’d heard the way it sounded when cried out in a guttural moan. The very noise of it makes her stomach churn in disgust. Such a moment is meant to be shared with someone intimately, someone she loves. 

Killian takes her hand and without hesitation brings it up to his lips. She can feel the inhale he takes with his kiss still pressed to her knuckles, like he was smelling her skin. Men had tried to smell her before, and often complained that she smells too much of whisky and manly musk. The lieutenant looks like he’s lost at sea, floating off to heaven.

Emma raises her brow, beginning to feel like perhaps this was a bad idea. 

“Lieutenant, are you quite alright?” 

Killian drops her hand as if she has just told him she has leprosy. Shrinking back into his seat, he begins to tug for his jacket. 

“I’m sorry, Miss Swan, it seems I forgot myself for a moment. We’ve been away at sea so long..But that’s no excuse for the way I...It’s just...I should go.”

His vest and jacket are slung over his shoulders, if not looking a bit disheveled, and he begins to march toward the door of the tavern. 

“Lieutenant, wait!” Emma says shortly, grabbing ahold of his arm as he passes her, “I had not meant to make you feel as though you committed some sort of sin. You simply introduced yourself.”

Emma does not know why she is even trying to keep this man here. Is she worried that if he leaves, other’s will try to buy her company? Or does she want to just stay and talk to him because he’s the most pleasant conversational partner she’s had in weeks? Killian does not seem convinced. In fact, his expression hardens, falling back into army mode. 

“It’s as you said, Miss Swan. You want my company no more than I want yours. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have preparations to make.” 

Preparations for what? Is he not staying in port? 

Before Emma can ask, Lieutenant Jones has stormed from the pub, leaving Emma standing alone in the doorway. 

*

She tries to think about other things, she really does. But it’s so distracting the way his gaze is permeated throughout her entire brain, consuming each one of her thoughts. It’s strange, because she hasn’t even looked upon a man with much interest since the Dark One’s son abandoned her and framed her for a crime she did not commit. 

But something pulls her to Killian, like a sailor being called to a siren. 

But it’s probably just as well that he left before she could start to have any thoughts that treaded into dangerous territory. The last thing she needs is to fall for a respectable Lieutenant with beautiful eyes and a voice that melds on the night breeze. 

But she really,  _ really  _ wishes she didn’t have to be alone anymore. Not after she tasted what genuine conversation could be, or at least, the beginnings of real conversations. Introductions. 

But he’s gone. 

Almost. 

A curly haired man sits across her table, and she almost has it in her to tell him to just  _ fuck off, will you? I’m not for sale tonight!  _ But he makes his first words to her count. 

“I know my lieutenant, and he liked you.”

Emma takes a sip of her beer, the mention of the lieutenant carrying too much bitter weight for her liking. 

“Many a man have liked me, sir, but I have yet to see affection shown in the way a man storms away from me.” Her voice sounds indifferent. Wench Swan doesn’t care that a man has left her; there will surely be another. Emma Swan feels lost because it’s been so long since she’s had a real friend. Not one that’s paid for her. 

“He’s worried getting caught with a wench will get him in trouble with the captain,” the man says. “But the captain just wants his little brother to stop brooding so much. Perhaps the company of a fair lady will loosen him up. What do you say, love? Has someone already purchased your company for the night?” 

Emma narrows her eyes. This man - the captain? - has Killian’s eyes. The same one that mirror the sea, but this particularly pair lacks the depth of loneliness. This man is Killian’s brother. 

“Perhaps you might like to ask one of the other fine ladies around,” Emma suggests. “If you’re going to purchase a present, perhaps it should be one he genuinely cares for.” 

“Believe me, lass, he cares for you.”

“He doesn’t know me.”

“Oh, but how he would like to.”

To her own surprise, Emma considers it. 

Against her better judgement, she accepts.

*

She finds  _ The Jewel of the Realm  _ completely soulless, save for a watchman or two. When questioning eyes fall upon her as she boards the ship without permission, Emma explains that she is a gift from the captain to the lieutenant. 

“Maybe you can pull that stick out his arse while you’re down there,” a man calls after her. 

Killian Jones - the man, not the lieutenant - has stripped out of his uniform and sits at his desk writing something on crinkled parchment. Emma feels her gaze soften as she takes the sight of him in. His bare back looks strong and smooth in the candlelight, legs tucked under the desk covered by cotton underclothes. 

She takes a risk. She calls his name.

“Killian?”   


The man swirls around as fast as lightning cracks, eyes wide with shock. 

“Did you follow me?” he asks incredulously. His fingers slowly set down the quill he’s holding, as if sudden movement might scare her off. 

“Your brother sent me as a gift for you. He insisted, against my warning that I would probably be the last wench you’d like to spend your last evening on land with.” 

Killian’s eyes soften. In a moment, he is moving aside so Emma can sit in his chair rather than stand in the doorway. 

“You aren’t the last person, love. I’m honored to be the one you spend your night with.” He pauses. “Although, we don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to. I can tell Liam that I appreciated his gift thoroughly.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Emma contends. “You are not the first man I’ve been with. I’ll be okay with whatever you’d like.” 

It is only a half-truth. She doesn’t want Killian to become another man on her list of clients, ones that don’t know her, but spend hours using her. She wants Killian to request something like conversation, a drinking partner, someone to stargaze with. 

“I won’t be bedding you tonight,” he says firmly.

“You won’t?” It’s not disappointment in her tone. It’s complete shock. Sure, she had hoped but...

“Unless you’d like to-?”

“No!” Emma exclaims, a little too fast and loud. “It’s not that. I’m just surprised is all. Most clients have something in mind they want.” 

“Oh, I have something in mind,” Killian assures. “Just not something of sexual nature.” 

“And what’s that?” 

“Be my model and let me draw you.”  
It sounds almost as intimate as sex, and part of Emma wants to turn around and run away. But she’s already here, in this cabin, with the shirtless lieutenant who wants to  _ draw her.  _ So she says, “Alright.”


End file.
